Welcome to fresh air. A thought like feathers ruffles in the breeze of a glowing morning. The new light. Inspiration pours through the soul and the mind can only gasp and gulp to sip in hungrily the balmy taste of the undiscovered. Eyes set. Inward. Outward. The self balances precariously between the tangible, metaphysical. The unknown. And thrilled by the graze of the curious morning zephyr.

Thursday, April 3, 2008

I am here not only to evade for a while the clamor and filth and confusion of the cultural apparatus but also to confront, immediately aid and directly if it's possible, the bare bones of existence, the elemental and fundamental, the bedrock which sustains us. I want to be able to look at and into a juniper tree, a piece of quartz, a vulture, a spider, and see it as it is in itself, devoid of all humanly ascribed qualities, anti-Kantian, even the categories of scientific description. To meet God or Medusa face to face, even if it means risking everything human in myself. I dream of a hard and brutal mysticism in which the naked self merges with a nonhuman world and yet somehow survives still intact, individual, separate. Paradox and bedrock.